This whiskey priest
Grits his teeth at human fallibilities,
Frailty is just that  I drink the stuff,
But with a holy glimmer of delight
No guilt, no sleight of conscience
Or of hand, just the taste of heaven
The  more often I drink Fuisce Baile,
Moonshine,
plain n rough
The tougher I become. Rum..
Whiskey, old-Irish say, Uisce Beatha,
Means the water of life in the Gaelic,
And in Druidical society
Before the curse of Christianity struck,
It was the holy water of life
And gave meaning to the barley and the corn
And the sun and the moon.
Like listening to Coltrane removes me from the gloom
Of modern living.